The Band's Little Angel
by Bandie
Summary: PG for a mature issue. This is fictional. How Chiante's marching band deals with a sudden tragedy. Will they be able to at all anyway? Please R&R!
1. Prologue

The Bandies were acting strange. They act strange anyway (I should know), but they were acting exceptionally strange. Not strange in their normal way, at least, but strange in another way. I looked around the Commons in the high school. I was a Bandie myself so I could pick out all of them. It was strange seeing them walking with their fellow Bandies, but not talking. It was strange seeing them with grim, solemn looks on their faces. I knew I looked like that too. I had too. I felt the same way.  
  
"Chiante?" asked Julie, my non-band friend.  
  
I glanced up. "What?"  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"No." With that I got up from the table and made my way to the band room.  
  
The band room was also drowning in the strange Bandie behavior. They were in there, as always, but hardly anyone was talking. Like robots, Bandies were slipping their instrument cases into or out of their lockers. They were taking music out of slots and were sitting on the ground doing homework. The strangest part of it all, though, was most of us were wearing black.  
  
It had only happened yesterday. The rest of the school didn't know yet; at least, not the ones that hadn't been told by a Bandie. By the looks of it, the Bandies weren't saying anything. They were like me. I was afraid if I opened my mouth I might just start crying again. The rest of the school thought we didn't hear them talking. They thought we didn't hear them talking like nothing had happened at all. We could hear them, though. We could hear them loud and clear. We heard what they said about us being weird and dressing randomly in black. How we were bipolar and one day we'd be goofing off and the next ready to cry. But they didn't know.  
  
And I didn't have the energy to care. 


	2. Cara

The first thing you need to know is that I'm a klutz. Not a serious, drop-everything, run-into-everything-in-a-mile-radius klutz; just one that has a tendency to spill music all over the floor or knock over music stands. Which is why, when I got the field commander position I had auditioned for I did two things. First I got giddy with joy. Then I started fearing that I would turn around on my podium to do a salute at a game or a contest and fall right off. It was also my skills at knocking over music that I met Cara. My fellow field commander, Haley, and I had just gotten some new scores. I was about to put them in my folder at the end of the summer rehearsal when I knocked them all to the floor.  
  
"Here, let me help," I heard a girl say when I bent down to get my music which was now scattered everywhere. I looked up. I had seen her playing in the clarinet section during practice, but it was the first time I had ever seen her. I was sure she was a freshman.  
  
"Thanks," I said. "I'm kind of klutzy sometimes."  
  
"I know the feeling. I'm Cara, by the way. Cara Jackson. I'm a freshman."  
  
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Chiante Mills."  
  
"So, you're the thing they call a field commander?" Cara asked.  
  
"Yeah, along with Haley, but I don't know where she went. We got picked last spring," I answered. "What middle school did you go to?"  
  
"None around here. I moved here from New York."  
  
By this time, my music was all gathered and we had walked outside. She waved goodbye and headed off to her ride. I waved back and headed to my car.  
  
Throughout the next few weeks, heading into band camp, everyone got to know Cara Jackson more. We all learned she was incredibly kind and giving. She told us her mom worked in a local animal hospital and sometimes Cara volunteered to play with the animals. We learned she was a vegetarian (not a vegan, just a vegetarian). The more we all learned about Cara, the more we liked her. The more we hung around Cara, the more we all liked her. Everyone wanted Cara Jackson to be their Freshman, so we came up with the idea for her to be the Entire Band's Freshman (she also became known as The Entire Band's Little Sister).  
  
Cara enjoyed talking to Haley and me about field commanding. Whenever the band got a water break, Cara always came over to one of our podiums to talk to us. She was the sweetest girl any of us had ever met.  
  
So, why, one and a half months into the marching season, did it have to happen? And why did it have to happen to Cara Anne Jackson? 


	3. Friday before the game

"Do you need a ride to the clarinet sectional?" I asked Cara that Friday.  
  
"You're going?" she asked, surprised. I had barely gone to any sectional at all for any section all season so far- the field commanders have to be invited. Neither Haley nor I had gone to many. If neither of us got invited to some sectional we usually went out to a fast food restaurant as a field commander sectional instead.  
  
"Don't sound so surprised," I teased Cara. Since she was like all of our little sister it gave us free reign to both love and taunt her. She took it well, she was a good sport. "The section leaders invited me yesterday. Now, stop trying to change the subject and answer the original question."  
  
"Did you hear what happened in my English class today?" Cara cried suddenly, a giant grin on her face. I knew she was teasing me back.  
  
"CARA!" I cried back.  
  
She laughed and said, "No, I don't. I have a dentist appointment today, go figure, so my mom is going to pick me up in about ten minutes and drop me back off at report time." Cara paused for a second, then added, "Which is 6:00, right?"  
  
"Right," I smiled. "Well, I'll see you then, I guess. We'll miss you, you know."  
  
We hugged and she added before she walked out the door, "Right. I'm TOTALLY the life of the party!"  
  
"Get out of here!" I laughed.  
  
The only thing I didn't know is that Cara really did get out of there and we really did miss her.  
  
I left the sectional earlier than anyone else, because Haley and I had decided to meet at 5:30 to practice really quick. Haley, the two band directors, and I were the only ones at the school. The directors were doing some work in their office and Haley and I were stuck in the practice rooms (which smell like a zoo, by the way) trying to direct without music and without decapitating each other. We worked until about 5:50, when our arms hurt too much to move much longer, and went out into the band room, where many, many Bandies had chosen to congregate. I caught snippets of some conversations as I walked to my locker to put my music away and get my whistle out.  
  
"Did you guys see it?"  
  
"Yeah, it was horrible. I hope no one got hurt."  
  
"I could barely get around. I'm glad we left early, we would have been so late."  
  
"It looked like a three car pile-up."  
  
"It was two cars, you moron, the third was the first police car."  
  
"Wow, that was a really bad one, then."  
  
I was so confused. I guessed that everyone was talking about a car accident nearby, which I did not know had happened. At almost exactly 6:00, Haley called the band to attention (loudly). A police man walked from the office with our band director, Mr. Andrews.  
  
"Please sit down," Mr. Andrews said. Once we were all seated on the band room floor, confused, he continued, "This is Officer Frie. He has something to tell you all."  
  
The man known as Officer Frie stepped forward. "Your fellow band member, Cara Jackson, has been involved in an incredibly serious two-car automobile collision right out here on Hard Road. The car she was a passenger in was hit passenger-side by a car driven by a drunk driver. That car was going far over the speed limit and slid out of control. Mrs. Jackson is fine and told us to tell you this. Cara Jackson is severely injured, has fallen into a coma, and the life flight is on its way to pick her up." 


	4. Friday still

The silence in the room was nauseating. Officer Frie must have understood how important Cara was to all of us because he let the silences live for at least a minute. Finally his walkie-talkie made a gurgling sound on his belt; he picked it up, listened, whispered something, and then turned to us. "The life flight just landed. If you want to, you have permission to go outside in the parking lot to watch them take her away to the hospital."  
  
Before he could say another word the entire band had jumped up and raced out the door, out of the school, and into the parking lot. The helicopter was sitting as close to the accident as possible. Its huge blades were swinging around frantically. I was shocked when I saw what the accident looked like. The two mangled cars were strewn across the streets; some glass here, some metal there. Then I saw her. The paramedics had Cara on a stretcher and were rushing her to the life flight. It was the most gruesome thing I'd ever seen. Our little Cara was not moving at all. She had blood all over herself and a black eye it looked like.  
  
The entire band huddled together as though to protect ourselves from the pain that was drowning us.  
  
"This is all a bad dream," I heard a Bandie mumble. "Tomorrow we're all going to wake up and find out it's Friday morning. This just can't be real."  
  
But it was real. It was really Friday evening, Officer Frie really had told us what had happened, it really had happened to Cara. Now we all really had to accept it.  
  
The helicopter flew away, out over the tree tops and far away. Finally, Mr. Andrews turned to us and spoke up, "Come on, guys. Let's go inside and get ready for the game."  
  
I looked around at my fellow Bandies as we slowly made our way back inside the school. I had been a Bandie for three whole years, and was halfway finished with my fourth. I could tell none of us wanted to go inside and get ready for the game. We all wanted to sit around and mope. Bandies mope very well. I know that much.  
  
The band room was very quiet as we slid into our uniforms. No one went to the Commons to change, as many usually do. When the girls were changing into their under-uniform clothes in the bathroom, no one talked. No one talked throughout the entire ordeal. It was like, although it had been Cara who had been in the accident, we were the ones in shock. 


	5. Waiting

Ah, the beloved Phone Chain. We hadn't ever had one, but the Leaders created one in their meeting after the football game that cursed Friday. We spent at least an hour crammed into the Ensemble Room organizing the Chain. We had promised the band and the directors we would do so. We did. We each had a list of certain people we were supposed to call. The directors were supposed to call Haley and me, then we had divided up the rest of the Leaders and each would call half. Then the Leaders had divided up their sections, and so on. We were doing it in case the directors heard ANYTHING about Cara's condition.  
  
So what did I do all Saturday? Nothing. I sat by the phone, in my house, and did nothing. The same went for Sunday. Absolutely nothing went on. There was no need for the Chain after all. At least not that weekend.  
  
Actually, Haley called once. It was the most pathetic, dramatic, and morbid conversation I've ever had with that girl.  
  
"Hi, is Chiante there?" Haley asked when I picked up the phone.  
  
"Yeah. Hi Haley."  
  
"Hi." There was a pause then she asked. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Okay, I guess. You?"  
  
"About the same. You haven't heard anything, have you?"  
  
"If I had, you'd have heard too."  
  
"I know, but."  
  
"No, Haley, I haven't heard anything yet."  
  
"Do you think we'll hear anything this weekend?"  
  
I looked at the clock. "It's 5:30 Sunday afternoon. I think if we were going to hear something this weekend we would have heard by now."  
  
"Yeah, good point." There was another pause. "Do you think Cara is going to be alright?"  
  
I had to think about this one. "I don't know. I think she's a fighter and nothing has managed to bring her down yet. And she has all the support of all the Bandies behind her, so."  
  
"But it was a really bad crash. Chiante, it smashed into the passenger side of the car. That's where she was sitting."  
  
"Everything kind of cancels everything else out, so I think it's one of those 50-50 situations."  
  
"True. Anyway, I was just really calling to find out if you'd heard anything from the Rumor Mill or something. Or anything, really. I'm really bored."  
  
"The Rumor Mill doesn't run in my neighborhood."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"No one tells me anything. I'm the last Bandie to know anything."  
  
"Oh, well, I've got to go do homework, you know. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"Okay, bye."  
  
Monday came. The day at school was long and drawn out. I didn't really want to be there on Monday. I wanted to go visit Cara in the hospital. That was only wishful thinking, though, because not only would my parents ground me until the day after forever if I skipped school, but the Rumor Mill was saying no one could visit her (yes, for once the Rumor Mill didn't pass me by). Apparently a couple Bandies had tried to visit her, but she was in the Intensive Care Unit and was only allowed to be visited by family. According to the Rumor Mill she was hooked up to a million machines, and didn't look good at all. It was confirmed at marching band practice. Mr. Andrews told us. He also told us she was getting steadily worse by the day. Haley had run out and gotten a piece of bright poster board on her period off, then the two of us had written "Get Well Soon, Cara!" We taped it outside the band office and everyone signed it. Then we handed it over to Mr. Andrews because he and a couple other staff members were going to go over to the hospital to see Cara and her family (her family mostly). Then we went home.  
  
We were all a bunch of robots.  
  
The next morning, in the middle of third period, the intercom made the annoying buzzing sound it always makes before someone actually talks. "Attention, students. Would all the marching band members, including color guard, please report to the band room for an emergency meeting. I repeat, would all marching band members including color guard please report to the band room for an emergency meeting. Thank you."  
  
Exchanging a look with Haley, who just happened to have the same Government class as me, we walked out the door. As was nature, we passed most of the other Bandies as we headed down to the band room. All of us looked apprehensive. Was it about Cara? We supposed it was, I could tell by the looks on their faces. Was it good news? Was it bad news?  
  
Once we were all finally in the band room, Mr. Andrews told us all to sit down. He stood in front of us for a moment then said, "You guys, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to say. It's going to be the hardest thing for you to accept." He paused. I looked around. It was bad news. We knew it had to be bad news. "This past Friday I saw this band bond together because something tragic happened to one of its members. You bonded together like I've never seen you do before. Over the weekend, you bonded more. Today you'll have to make the strongest bond possible because you guys are going to need each other more than ever now." This time the pause was longer. "This morning, at 8:32, our own Cara Jackson passed away in the hospital from major head injury."  
  
The silence was deafening. She was gone; she was actually gone. The entire band began looking around at one another. Then we began to cry. 


End file.
